


The Jackass in the Camaro

by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Don't copy to another site, Fluff, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Letters, M/M, Meet-Cute, Stiles Stilinski Deserves Nice Things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:54:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22934392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wasterella/pseuds/isthatbloodonhisshirt
Summary: To the guy I splashed with water on First and Crown on Thursday, February 27th around seven at night: I am an a**hole. I’m sorry. I was being an impatient driver, and I just wanted to get home, and I cut off the bus to get there faster. I didn’t mean to soak you with rainwater, and I am truly sorry for doing so. That was a total d*ck move of me. With regrets, The Jackass in the Camaro.Stiles had to re-read the notice four times before he honestly believed he was seeing it with his own two eyes. He’d gotten splashed by rainwater on First and Crown on Thursday around seven while waiting at a bus stop because of an impatient Camaro driver cutting off a bus.Like, that was actually a thing that had happened. This was a real thing.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 93
Kudos: 2016





	The Jackass in the Camaro

**Author's Note:**

  * For [adara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/adara/gifts).



> I wrote this on my phone on the bus on my way home from work so I'm sorry for typos of anything else that is weird and unformatted... 
> 
> Ilu Adara, sorry you had such a bad day, hope this helps brighten it up <3

Stiles could not fucking _wait_ for this day to be fucking _over_! Like, if he had a genie right now, he would be using one of his three limited wishes to just end this day _now_ and wake up tomorrow. If anything else went wrong, he was liable to stab someone. 

The day had tricked him. He’d woken up the same way he always did: tired, but somewhat optimistic for the day ahead. He loved his job, had great co-workers, and even had plans for the evening to see that new DC movie he’d been hearing such good things about with a bunch of his friends. 

All in all, a nice, typical Thursday. Nothing foreboding on the horizon whatsoever.

Oh no! No, that was the trick. See, the day wanted to lull him into a false sense of security. Of _course_ today was going to be a good day! Whyever wouldn’t it be? 

If this day was a person, Stiles would have jumped them and been pounding their face in because, fucking _rude_ to make him so God damn optimistic. 

First of all, he’s woken up late. Hadn’t noticed at the time, hence the optimism, but he was late. He only found this out when he got a distressed call from his co-worker asking where he was since he was meant to be in an _extremely important_ budget meeting with his boss and their department head in about ten minutes. 

Cue the downhill spiralling shithole that was his day. 

Stiles hadn’t known it was possible to get ready as quickly as he did, but he managed to make it out the door in three minutes, give or take, despite the angry shouts from his roommate for being so loud so early in the morning. Of course, he’s missed the bus by a scant fucking second, though he didn’t _need_ to take it. Work wasn’t far, but it was two stops on the express bus so about eight or nine blocks.

He couldn’t wait for another bus, so he fucking ran. He ran like his life depended on it—well, his job did at least, so he ran.

When he got to work, panting like a fucking animal and positively _drenched_ in sweat, his boss informed him the department head had been forced to re-schedule. 

Which, really, was a good thing. Sure, Stiles had been annoyed, because it took him almost ten minutes to get his breathing back under control and his heart rate down, but whatever. All good. At least he hadn’t been forced into the meeting while gasping for air like a dying man. 

He went to his desk and got organized for the day, and that was when he saw what time the new meeting was at. 

It was smack dab in the middle of his lunch date with his best friend Scott, who was only in town for the one day and who’d specifically booked the time with him in advance to make sure he was available. Had a reservation at a fancy schmancy restaurant and everything!

When Stiles mentioned this to his boss, while sympathetic, they couldn’t really switch the new meeting time because of Stiles’ lunch plans. The department head was a busy man, after all. 

Stiles had tried to schedule an earlier lunch with Scott after that conversation, but he was in a seminar for the day, so his lunch time was set. There was no way for him to come earlier or go later, and they couldn’t meet afterwards since Scott had to catch his flight back home. 

Not going to the meeting wasn’t an option either though, so Stiles told Scott he’d see him at the restaurant so they could at least chat for a few minutes, but he’s have to head out relatively quickly to get back to the office for the meeting. While not ideal, it was better than nothing. 

That was when Stiles’ computer decided it had had enough of him and thought it’d be a good idea to just crash.

With the budget meeting notes on it. 

Cue an hour on the phone with IT later, and the drive was corrupted—however the fuck _that_ had happened while Stiles had literally _just_ been using it!—and wouldn’t be recoverable. 

Or well, it might be, but certainly not today. 

So Stiles promptly entered panic mode, because it had taken him _weeks_ to crunch all those numbers and he now had to start over for a meeting he had in four hours. 

Thankfully he and his boss had been emailing a lot about what he was working on, so they sequestered themselves in the man’s office after Stiles told him the bad news and proceeded to pour over the endless emails and Business Skype messages while Stiles worked the numbers out in a spreadsheet on the laptop IT had loaned him. 

He only just barely got everything done before he had to head out for lunch, which sucked because his emails were a fucking mess, courtesy of having been locked away all God damn morning. But no way was he missing out on these precious few minutes he had with Scott, so he just said a little prayer that nothing was horrendously urgent, told his boss he was heading out and would be back in time for the meeting, then ran for the stairs. 

He got to the restaurant in about five minutes, which would give him ten with his good buddy, and then five more to run back to work. He’d expected Scott to be there when he arrived, but he didn’t spot him. The hostess brought him to the reserved table during the busy lunch rush and Stiles pulled his phone out to check on Scott’s ETA. 

He didn’t get a response until almost eight minutes later, his friend saying the seminar ran late and he was heading over now. Stiles had to very sadly tell him not to bother. By the time Scott got there, he’d have to head back out to work. It was disappointing missing out on seeing him, but there was always next time. Scott was just as bummed, but such was life.

While Stiles was heading for the exit after apologizing to his waitress for literally sitting there ordering nothing for almost ten minutes, he was weaving through the tables when someone jerked out of their chair abruptly. Normally this would’ve been fine, except a waiter had been passing behind him at the time with a tray of drink, so when the chair bashed into him, the tray went flying. 

And in what direction did this tray go flying in? Why, in _Stiles’_ direction, of course! Because why the fuck _wouldn’t_ it?

To put the cherry on top of his already sundae-esque day, the tray had been full of booze, including red wine, two different whites, a bottle of beer and some slushy, fruity concoction. 

So not only did Stiles get a face and chest-full of cold beverages, it also stained his white dress shirt _and_ he smelled like fucking alcohol. At least the beer hadn’t done any damage since it had bounced off him with minimal spillage and then just smashed when it hit the ground, mostly drenching his shoes, but that was _hardly_ the point. 

The restaurant tried to make him wait so the manager could give him some kind of voucher, apologizing and freaking out about it, but he got kind of rude in his panic to get the fuck out of there before he was late _again_ for the same meeting.

He got back to the office with a minute to spare, knowing he looked pathetic when he slunk into his boss’ office with a red-stained shirt and smelling like liquor. His boss was nice enough to feel bad for him instead of annoyed, and he lent him his suit jacket in an attempt to minimize the visible area of staining. 

They did end up having their meeting, but Stiles was flustered and out of sorts since he didn’t have his notes, wasn’t _entirely_ confident on the thrown together numbers, and was being eyed suspiciously the entire time, like the smell of alcohol was definitely noticed. 

His boss was asked to stay behind when they were done, and Stiles was _positive_ he was about to get fucking _fired_. The department head was probably telling his boss to get rid of him before day’s end. Fuck! 

Returning to his desk, Stiles attempted to work off the tiny screen of his laptop, finding that he did, in fact, have some urgent emails. Because sure. Why not? Like his day wasn’t already bad enough. 

He managed to put out a few fires without too much trouble, but got yelled at rather aggressively for one urgent matter he hadn’t been available for. He just sent his boss an email to keep him apprised for when he got back to his desk. 

After all, if Stiles was getting fired, his boss needed to know what he was in the middle of!

Two agonizing hours later and he was done for the day. He still had a fuck-ton of shit to do, but he had plans and really couldn’t linger. He figured he’d either come back later after the movie, or just head in early the following morning. 

Rushing to the bus so he could catch it to the downtown core, he missed it—again!—by a few fucking seconds. When he pulled out his phone to check the next bus, it was dead. 

Because of course it was. Apple products were designed to fucking suck after the first year. 

Giving up on entertainment for the ride, and a timeline on the next bus, he just waited for it to arrive while watching cars go by. 

And then it started raining. 

Sure. Why not?

And did he have an umbrella or coat or anything?

No. Of course not. That would have been far too convenient. So he just got to stand there, in the rain, waiting for the bus with nothing to do but go over all the things he’d fucked up over the course of the day. 

The bus was full when it arrived, which it always was when it rained since no one wanted to be walking in it. He managed to get on before the driver deemed it _too_ full—probably the only good luck he’d had all day—and ended up wedged up between some poor old lady and a beefcake football player-type dude. 

It was the longest half hour of his life, but he made it to the theatre with time to spare and even managed to get off the bus without too much trouble. Things were maybe, possibly, sort of, kind of looking up! Sure, it was still raining, but he’d made it on time and was going to be hanging out with friends, so that was the important thing! 

Heading into the theatre, he set himself up in a place that was relatively visible since his phone was dead, and yet still pulled it out of his pocket to check his messages as he was situating himself. Because he was a fucking moron. 

He waited for a good ten minutes, eying the time on the conveniently placed clock on the far wall. When it started getting a bit _too_ close to the start of the movie with no signs of his friends, he wondered if maybe they hadn’t seen him and had headed inside and were waiting for him to text so one of them could come out to bring him his ticket. They’d wanted seats together, so they’d opted for one person to buy all the tickets and everyone would pay them back, but Stiles was really starting to worry they’d headed in without him. 

Eventually, when it was close to the five minute mark for the beginning of the movie, he managed to sweet talk his way into borrowing a phone from the ticket booth—by sweet talk, it was more he begged and begged—and thanked his lucky stars for having been bored enough one day to memorize his entire contacts list. 

Having dialled his friend’s number, it came about that they had actually cancelled. Apparently he’d forgotten to buy the tickets and by the time he’d remembered, the show was sold out. He’d sent everyone a text letting them know, which Stiles was sure he’d received on his fully drained phone. 

And so, he went back outside in the—thankfully—no longer pouring rain and made his way back to the bus stop. Small miracles that the rain had stopped, but the downpour they’d had while he was on the bus on the way up made it so that there were large puddles of water all over the place. He didn’t worry about his feet since they were already wet, but was thankful his clothes had dried out a fair bit since it was colder now that the sun had set. 

There seemed to be a blocked drain beside the bus stop, because there was a _lot_ of water on the road, but no big deal. Most people were driving through it slowly enough that it didn’t splash more than a few inches over the sidewalk, well enough away from where Stiles was sitting on the damp bench. 

And there he was, waiting for the bus. Not yet wishing for the day to be over. Close, but not quite there yet. Oh no! His day hadn’t been _quite_ bad enough yet to warrant his desire for it to be over. Sure, it hadn’t been great, but he was trying not to be too down on himself about it. It hadn’t been _awful_! At least he’d gotten some exercise today, given all his running! And he’d learned to always make back-ups of important documents, so there’d been a learning opportunity. _And_ it reminded him he needed to go home more to visit Scott, and his dad. So really, all in all, at least he had some life lessons today. 

No, the day went from tolerable to downright _awful_ five minutes later. 

Because that was when the bus lumbered down the street, making its way towards him. Stiles stood, but stayed far enough back that when the bus approached, the water wouldn’t cascade over the sidewalk too much and drench his already damp feet. 

It was while he was watching the bus approach that a Camaro changed lanes behind it, zooming past the bus quickly in an obvious attempt to get around it, since buses were slow and stopped a lot. Stiles understood, of course. He’d have done the same thing. 

The Camaro sped past the bus, and evidently wanted to turn right at the street right past the stop Stiles was at, because it cut the bus off to get back in the right lane, and was going so fast that before Stiles could even react, the car sped right through the ridiculously large _lake_ that the blocked drain had created and a veritable _shower_ of water just exploded over the sidewalk. 

Stiles was instantly drenched, having had just enough time to clench his eyes shut before he was hit, the wave of dirty water washing over him and soaking him through in seconds. 

The Camaro whipped around the corner a few feet away from him as the bus slowly lumbered to a stop right beside him, the driver giving him a somewhat apologetic look once the door opened. 

And _that_ was the moment Stiles wished this day would just fucking _end_ already, because the last thing he needed was to go home and set his fucking apartment on _fire_. 

Today had been the worst day. 

The fucking absolute _worst_! 

* * *

“Could’ve been worse,” Lydia insisted loudly from the living room. “You could’ve gotten fired.” 

“Tomorrow’s another day,” Stiles called back, standing in the en suite in his bedroom while finishing up drying off with one of his spare towels before putting some sweats and a loose shirt on. No way was he using his usual shower towel to dry off gross street water. No thank you. 

He’d just spent the last ten minutes recounting his shit-tastic day to her, and while she’d been polite enough not to laugh, he could tell she was somewhat amused at the overall unfortunate series of events. She wouldn’t have been if he _had_ been fired or if something truly awful had happened, but really, as awful as his day had been, it really could’ve been worse.

That was what he had to keep reminding himself. There was always a way for it to be worse. 

Finishing up drying his hair with the towel, he wandered back out into the living room, Lydia sitting on the couch with her stockinged feet tucked under her and a blanket over her lap. She had some takeout and a glass of wine on the side table, having been prepared for an enjoyable night in with her PVR’d episode of _The Bachelor_ , but upon Stiles’ return, she’d been kind enough to pause it and give him her undivided attention. 

That was the great thing about living with Lydia. They were amazing friends, and while she was still a little haughty sometimes—seriously, she’d beaten him out for Valedictorian by _one_ point!—he loved her and he knew she loved him. 

Despite his horrible day, just being able to come home and whine at her like he had for the past ten minutes had made him feel remarkably better. 

“Sorry I ruined your night in,” he said, tossing the soiled towel into the laundry room and shutting the door. 

She just shrugged one shoulder and patted the spot on the couch next to her. “You can just watch this garbage with me.” 

“I don’t get why you watch it when you don’t even like it,” Stiles insisted, though he moved to obey and fell down beside her, pulling the blanket up over his lap. She tilted the takeout in his direction in silent inquiry but he shook his head. He’d ordered a pizza on his phone while he’d been stripping out of his wet clothes, having plugged it in so it could charge up a little bit. 

“It’s entertaining,” she insisted with a small one-shoulder shrug, looking into her container and picking out a specific piece of kung pao chicken with her chopsticks. “It’s just that kind of stupid, over the top ridiculousness that lets me unwind.” 

Stiles shrugged, conceding her point. It was true, after all. Lydia worked a really demanding job, considering it was the middle of tax season and she worked for an accounting firm. He definitely did _not_ envy her right now. 

It made sense that watching something ridiculous like _The Bachelor_ would make her feel better, because being witness to other people’s drama as it unfolded was at least entertaining, if nothing else. 

They sat on the couch together, Lydia drinking her wine and eating her leftovers while Stiles waited on his pizza. He told her not to bother pausing it when he got the call his food had arrived, but she did anyway. She probably wanted him to suffer along with her on the horribleness. 

That was fair. Misery loved company and all that. 

Besides, after the day he’d had, there wasn’t really much more that could go wrong. 

When he got back with his pizza, he found out that was a lie, because he’d just opened it up, eager for his guilty pleasure after the shit he’d endured that day, only to find it was the wrong order. 

Seriously. This day needed to _end_ already! 

* * *

Stiles was not fired when he returned to work on Friday, nor was he fired when he made it back there on Monday. This was very exciting news for him, because he’d been positive things had gone horribly on Thursday, but apparently the department head hadn’t mentioned anything about his squirrelly behaviour after he’d left the room, which was a good sign. 

Also, Friday and Monday had both gone _infinitely_ better than Thursday. Plus, he’d Skyped with Scott and he was coming back out in a couple of weeks for another seminar, so Stiles figured he’d book the day off this time, just to be safe. He didn’t get to see Scott very often and he was _not_ missing out on another opportunity with him. 

It was almost the end of the day, Stiles chatting with his neighbour about her plans for the evening since she was babysitting her sister’s twins for ‘date night,’ when his cell phone rang. He frowned down at it, having it out on his desk all day since he always did given his father’s line of work. 

He had half a second to panic when he saw Lydia’s name, and then realized if someone was going to call him about bad news related to his father, it would be either Scott or Parrish, not his roommate who was in the same city as him. 

“Hey, what’s up?” 

_“You don’t read the paper, right?”_

“Depressing, why would I do that?” he asked, cradling his phone between his ear and shoulder so he could use both hands to straighten out a stack of paperwork. 

_“I need to read stupidity sometimes, so I always check the personal ads when I need a brain break.”_

“Those still exist?” Stiles asked. He figured with the online world the way it was, and digital papers and whatnot, that personal ads wouldn’t be a thing anymore. 

Evidently, he was wrong. 

_“Yes, and not the point. You know on Thursday when you had that horrible day and some guy sprayed you with water while going by in his car? You said you were waiting at the bus stop on First and Crown, right? Around seven?”_

Cocking an eyebrow at the weirdly specific inquiry, he said, “Yeah, why?” 

_“I’m gonna send you a Whatsapp.”_

“Okay?” he asked, unsure of _why_ , exactly, she was sending him a Whatsapp. 

When Lydia hung up, he did so as well, staring at his phone while he waited for her message to pop up. When it did, he saw that it was a picture, like she’d print-screened it from her phone. Opening it and making it a bit bigger, he read through what she’d sent him and his eyebrows shot up. 

_To the guy I splashed with water on First and Crown on Thursday, February 27th around seven at night: I am an a**hole. I’m sorry. I was being an impatient driver, and I just wanted to get home, and I cut off the bus to get there faster. I didn’t mean to soak you with rainwater, and I am truly sorry for doing so. That was a total d*ck move of me. With regrets, The Jackass in the Camaro._

Stiles had to re-read the notice four times before he honestly believed he was seeing it with his own two eyes. He’d gotten splashed by rainwater on First and Crown on Thursday around seven while waiting at a bus stop because of an impatient Camaro driver cutting off a bus. 

Like, that was actually a thing that had happened. This was a real thing.

Was he being Punk’d or something? He couldn’t help but wonder if Lydia had done this in an attempt to make him feel better, except... he hadn’t mentioned the guy cutting the bus off. He’d just mentioned an impatient driver flying through a massive puddle and drenching him. So really, Lydia _couldn’t_ have done this. 

Besides, she wouldn’t lie about it. That wasn’t her style. But this was just _so_ surreal! 

What were the chances of this finding him? The guy had put this out there, like an apology to the world in general, _hoping_ that it would somehow reach the intended party. If it wasn’t for Lydia reading personal ads when she got overwhelmed and needed a brain break, Stiles never would’ve _known_ about this! 

When his screen flickered and Lydia’s name showed up, he answered the call and put the phone back to his ear. 

“Do you know how to place a personal ad?” 

_“Why, are you going to reply?”_ she asked, sounding somewhat amused but definitely on board. After all, wasn’t like this happened every day, and by God, Stiles wasn’t going to let the opportunity pass him by! 

“Was thinking about it.” Stiles cradled his phone between shoulder and ear again, typing on his computer to look up how to place a personal ad. He redirected his search when Lydia told him what site she’d found it on and he went there instead, the two of them chatting while he tried to figure out how to place the ad in response. 

Work had finished by then, since she’d first called him ten minutes before the end of the day. He’d have felt bad for wasting company time, except he usually worked through his lunches. And stayed late. And showed up early. Really, he practically lived there, so he could take ten minutes out of his day to do something personal. 

Once he figured out how to place the ad, he saw that it charged by the word, so he’d have to think on his response carefully and avoid rambling like he usually did. A hard feat for him, but he stayed with Lydia on the phone to make sure he wasn’t going overboard.

After another twenty minutes—he was sure Lydia’s co-workers were _drowning_ without her—he had a reasonable response that wasn’t too long, but wasn’t too short, either. He had to input his credit card information before proceeding, and when it prompted him to review the ad one last time, he held his breath and hit ‘accept.’ 

He’d expected it to show up right away, but when it didn’t, Lydia said there was probably some kind of vetting process. After all, Stiles doubted Jackass Camaro man had starred out his own swear words, so they probably all got reviewed by someone before hitting the site. 

Stiles told Lydia to get back to work before hanging up, feeling a little lighter than he had earlier. It was nice, seeing that message. Realizing the guy felt bad and had wanted to let Stiles know, however unlikely he was to find out. There were still good people in the world, apparently. Stiles was really glad for it. 

By the time he got home a half hour later, having tinkered around at work and stopped to grab some sushi on the way home, he had a text from Lydia as soon as he walked through the door, informing him the ad was live. 

He went to the site to read it over, somehow feeling like the people vetting these might have altered it. But when he reviewed it, nothing had changed. It was exactly as he’d typed it, word for word. 

Actually, now he found it funny that the paper had starred out the guy’s ‘asshole’ but hadn’t starred out ‘jackass.’ Maybe they’d missed it, he didn’t know, but it was funny. 

_**Dear Jackass in the Camaro:** Straight up, this is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me. Yeah, getting soaked sucked, but the fact that you yelled an apology out to the void in hopes of it being received is literally the nicest thing that’s ever happened to me. Thank you for apologizing, you really made my day. Sincerely, Stained Dress Shirt. _

Stiles hadn’t known how to sign off, and all he kept thinking about was the fact that he’d been waiting for the bus while still wearing the dress shirt that had the huge wine stain across the front from his unfortunate lunch date with the waiter’s drink tray. It was all he could think about to identify himself, so he’d just gone with it.

His second option was ‘Dressed like a Banker,’ courtesy of Lydia. But Stiles wasn’t a banker, and he definitely didn’t dress like one, thank you very much Lydia Martin! So, he’d gone with that. 

The likelihood of it being read was minimal anyway, so he wasn’t really worried about the name to give out. The chances of this reaching his apologetic driver friend were about as high as Stiles’ own chances of having stumbled upon it on his own. Really, he’d only replied because it felt like the right thing to do, given the circumstances. 

He woke up the next morning to Lydia screaming through the apartment that he had a reply. 

* * *

_**Stained Dress Shirt:** I was surprised to see your response, but the good kind of surprised. I felt like a total a**hole when I got home and thought back on what I did. You were clearly already having a bad day and I’m sorry I made it worse. I’d really like the opportunity to make it up to you. Jackass in the Camaro._

_**Dear Jackass in the Camaro:** I was more surprised to see your initial apology, and the surprise keeps growing at the sight of a response. This is actually amazing, and I totally forgive you for the drenching. My day was already shot anyway, not like it was gonna get any worse. And you don’t owe me anything, but thanks for the offer. Your apology into the void is more than enough! Stained Dress Shirt. _

_**Stained Dress Shirt:** I really appreciate your forgiveness, but I’m going to have to insist. I would really like the opportunity to apologize in person. I promise not to dump any water over your head. Jackass in the Camaro. _

_**Dear Jackass in the Camaro:** Good to know you’re not interested in dumping water over my head. Or hopefully wine down my front. That’s happened to me already recently, so nix on that. And seriously, I appreciate it, but it’s okay. Your apology more than makes up for the incident. Stained Dress Shirt. _

_**Stained Dress Shirt:** My mother raised me to be respectful, and she would be ashamed of me if I let this go when I’ve actually gotten your attention. Please let me make it up to you. One coffee, that’s all I ask. In a cup and everything, not dumped over your head or spilled down your front. Jackass in the Camaro. _

_**Dear Jackass in the Camaro:** You are a persistent f***er aren’t you? Can I say that? Oh well, they’ll star it out if I can’t. I’m wasting my word count here. Fine, you’ve convinced me. Twist my arm, why don’t you? One coffee, so you don’t feel like you failed your mother when it comes to manners. Stained Dress Shirt. _

_**Stained Dress Shirt:** Thank you, I appreciate you giving me the chance to apologize in person. Starbucks, First and Larch, seven on Thursday? Closest Starbucks to the incident, and I figured I’d get us back to the time and place. Let me know if this works for you. Jackass in the Camaro._

_**Dear Jackass in the Camaro:** Sounds good, I can do that. Starbucks, seven Thursday, on First and Larch. I’ll wear a black hoodie with a red logo on it, in case you decide to dump coffee on me. At least it won’t stain! See you then! Stained Dress Shirt. _

_**Stained Dress Shirt:** See you then. Thank you. Jackass in the Camaro._

* * *

Stiles bounced his leg nervously while looking around the Starbucks coffeeshop, trying to figure out if any of the people milling about were his Jackass in the Camaro date. So far he didn’t see anyone who was looking around, and while Stiles felt uncomfortable waiting at a table by himself without a drink, he was sure the guy would show up soon.

It was kind of nerve-wracking, if he was honest. He’d never done anything like this before, and it was kind of surreal to realize he’d agreed to come and meet some rando in a coffeeshop half an hour away from his house. Sure, it was a public place, and he wasn’t actually worried about his safety, but still. It was weird, right? Did people usually do this? Was he stupid for giving in? 

Lydia didn’t seem to think so. She’d been following along on the thread with her co-workers, and he kept getting angry texts and emails for some of the things he’d said. She was adamant he was botching his chances with this mystery guy, which was _ridiculous_ since Stiles hadn’t even _seen_ what the guy _looked_ like! He’d only seen the car, and he knew it was a guy because—well, he just _did_! 

And besides, Lydia was of the opinion everyone in this day and age in their age range was bisexual, but that was only because their circle of friends was like that. Didn’t mean it was _true_. And maybe the guy coming was like, fifty and married. After all, a dope ass Camaro could definitely be a mid-life crisis car. 

With Stiles’ luck, he _would_ be a mid-life crisis, fifty year old balding man who just wanted to feel good about himself for apologizing to some ‘kid’ he’d splashed on the side of the road. Not like he was expecting a drop dead gorgeous model-type to show up. 

Stiles wasn’t _that_ lucky. 

“Hi.” 

He turned to look up, having twisted around to check behind him since this Starbucks had two entrances, and felt like his eyes would’ve popped out of his head if he’d widened them any more. 

This guy _had_ to be lost, because no _way_ was he here to meet Stiles. 

“Sorry, I’m—if this means nothing to you, just tell me and I’ll keep looking, but are you Stained Dress Shirt?” 

Good. 

Fucking.

_Lord_!

Stiles was _positive_ he was hallucinating, because no _way_ was this the guy he was here to meet. Hot fucking _damn_ , was he fine! 

He looked like some kind of successful businessman, wearing a full-on suit with a vest and a tie and everything. His hair was neatly styled, his beard trimmed to fucking perfection, and _God_ , those _cheekbones_! His eyes were like a mix of green and blue and fucking _yellow_ , Stiles didn’t even know, and his lips—he couldn’t. If he went there, he might lose himself and leap over the table. 

“Holy shit,” he said in response, then started at the realization that he hadn’t actually answered and hastily got to his feet. “Yes!” Whoops, hadn’t meant to shout that. “I mean, yes. Yeah. I’m Stained Dress Shirt. I mean, Stiles since, you know, Stained Dress Shirt. Not my given name. Hi. Hello. You’re gorgeous, by the way.” 

Oh God, had those words _actually_ come out of his mouth?! What was he, an _idiot_?! 

Well, yes, but still! And fuck, what even was he _wearing_?! He’d gone home to change after work like a _moron_! He looked like a fucking _child_! He was wearing faded jeans with a graphic tee under his stupid hoodie! Like a fucking high schooler! He was almost thirty years old, for fuck’s sake, _why_ hadn’t he stayed in his much more mature work attire?! Now hot Jackass in the Camaro probably thought Stiles was a fucking _minor_ on _top_ of being an idiot! 

He was just about ready to turn tail and run so he could die of embarrassment in peace, but Jackass in the Camaro just laughed, like he was amused, and his smile was to _die for_. He was staring at Stiles like he’d just received the best news, eyes bright and smile fucking gorgeous, Jesus, Stiles was screwed! 

_Screwed_! 

“You’re not so bad yourself,” the guy said, letting his eyes do an extremely quick but noticeable once-over. Was Stiles dreaming? Seriously, was this happening? “I had more time to recover from the sight of you since I got to stand over there while checking you out.” He motioned the other side of the coffeeshop, closer to the door Stiles hadn’t been watching as much.

Not that Stiles was thinking about the door, because _had he just said what Stiles thought he’d just said_?! He’d been _what_ now?! Holy fucking shit, was he dreaming? Seriously? _Seriously_?! 

“And thank you,” the guy said, still fucking _smiling_ like Stiles had hung the God damn _moon_ or something! “I really appreciate you giving me the opportunity to apologize in person—Stiles, was it?” 

“Yes.” Stiles was nodding way too emphatically. It took a conscious effort for him to stop. “Yes. Stiles. Is-is me. I’m Stiles. Hi.” 

“Hi,” the guy said again with a small chuckle. “I’m Derek.” 

“What a _great_ fucking name,” Stiles informed him. “Just—such a good name.” 

“Glad you think so.” Jesus, Stiles was a fucking _idiot_ , but he was word-vomiting all this, he couldn’t get himself to _stop_! At least Derek looked amused instead of annoyed or uncomfortable. “Can I get you a coffee? That was the whole purpose of this outing, so—and again, thank you.” He was still _smiling_. It was making it hard for Stiles to concentrate! “I felt like a total ass when I got home, especially since you were waiting on the bus, and I didn’t know how long your commute was, so you having to get home soaking wet because of me—I’m really sorry.” 

“Oh.” Stiles waved his hand dismissively, the one word _way_ too loud. He tried to tone it down when he continued. “It’s fine. Really. Water under the bridge. Or over my head, in this case! Hah!” 

God, what was _wrong_ with him?! This was _not_ the first attractive person he’d ever met. He was roommates with fucking _Lydia_! Why was he being so fucking _weird_?! 

Thankfully, Derek seemed to like weird, because he just laughed again, both hands on the back of the chair across the table, eyes occasionally dipping down to rake over Stiles’ body before shooting back up to his face. 

“Coffee?” Derek prompted. 

“Yes, right!” Stiles blurted out. “Uh—you know, I’m good with anything.” 

Derek eyed him for a second, like he was sizing him up, then asked, “Caramel Macchiato?” 

“Sounds amazing.” Oh good, a normal response. At a reasonable volume. See? Stiles could learn. He was good at learning. 

“Perfect.” Derek smirked slightly once more. “Be right back.” 

“Yup.” Stiles watched Derek head for the counter, then hastily pulled his phone out while sitting back down, turning away from the other man and texting Lydia. 

**[Stiles]**  
HELP!   
**[Stiles]**  
HE’S SO HOT!  
 **[Stiles]**  
AND I THINK HE’S GAY!  
 **[Stiles]**  
WHAT DO I DO?!

He was so glad he knew Lydia well enough to know she was watching her phone like a hawk during this outing, because her response was instantaneous. 

**[Lydia]**  
Don’t mess it up.

**[Stiles]**  
THAT IS NOT HELPFUL!

**[Lydia]**  
But it’s encouraging :) 

**[Stiles]**  
YOU ARE THE *WORST* WINGWOMAN!

“Sorry for the wait.” 

Stiles almost dropped his phone but managed to just turn off the screen and shove it into his pocket, turning back to Derek when he set his drink down in front of him. He hadn’t specified a size, but Derek had ordered them both ventis—his drink looked like a latte of some sort—and he’d also bought two cookies. 

He’d assumed they were both for Derek, but the man pulled one out of the bag, then held the other out to Stiles. He hesitated for only a second before taking the bag and nodding a thanks, eying the drinks. 

Venti drinks, like Derek was hoping for a long stay. Food. Endearing looks. Soft smiles. 

Was Stiles being flirted with right now? Was that a thing that was happening? For real? 

“I still can’t believe my ad worked,” Derek said with a small laugh, breaking a piece of his cookie off and popping it into his mouth. “When my sister told me to give it a shot, I wasn’t expecting it to actually reach you.” 

“My roommate reads the personal ads when she needs a brain break at work,” Stiles said. 

Oh good, a full, normal person sentence! He was starting to be a real boy again! 

“My sister does that, too,” Derek said, surprised. “Small world. She’s a financial advisor, so sometimes she needs to turn her brain off.” 

“Huh,” Stiles said, because it really _was_ strange. He supposed people in high stress jobs just needed a small dose of reality every now and then. “What about you? What do you do?” 

“Investment banking,” Derek said, popping another piece of cookie into his mouth while Stiles carefully sipped at his drink. It was so, so good. “It’s kind of boring, but it pays well. And yourself?” 

“Marketing. Well, sort of. I work in payroll for a marketing company. I don’t usually wear hoodies and jeans to work.” 

“I remember,” Derek said with a small smile. “You were very dressed up when we last met. Though having a bad day even before I soaked you.” 

“Yeah, it was—actually, it was kind of a nightmare of a day,” he admitted with a small laugh. “But it’s fine. I survived it and persevered forward.” 

“I’m glad,” Derek said with a smile, fingers playing with the edge of his cookie but his eyes locked on Stiles. “Honestly, I’m thankful you accepted my request. I wasn’t really sure what to expect just based on your appearance alone, but you seem—fun.” 

Stiles let out a small, somewhat awkward laugh. “Yeah. I’m real fun. You know, when I’m not being an idiot.” 

“Nothing wrong with being an idiot,” Derek offered with another small smirk. 

Stiles stared at him for a second, licked his lips, then leaned forward so they were a bit closer, lowering his voice. “Okay so I’m like, really super bad at this sort of thing, and I just wanna make sure I’m like, reading this properly and everything. Are you flirting with me? ‘Cause that doesn’t really happen very often, so I just wanna, you know, be on the same page.” He motioned between them. 

Apparently, that question warranted another loud laugh, because Derek’s head lowered and his shoulders shook while he tried to get himself back under control. Stiles waited for a few anxious seconds for him to stop. He’d _love_ for him to be flirting, but honestly, he was also fine with just having a new friend in town. He just wanted to know if he was reading into this too much. 

“To be honest,” Derek said once he’d stopped laughing, “I didn’t _intend_ to flirt when I asked you out for coffee. That sort of just happened when I walked in and saw you. Then you tripped over all your words, and honestly, you have an intoxicating energy.” 

Stiles was nodding along as Derek spoke, hanging on his every word until he finished. “So...?” 

“Yes, Stiles. I’m flirting with you.” 

Thank Jesus Lydia read the personal ads! 

“Cool. Cool, yeah, awesome. I mean, no big deal, right?” He waved one hand dismissively, but it was very clear he was being anything _but_ dismissive. 

Turned out his worst day ever wasn’t actually so damn bad after all. 

* * *

_**Dear Jackass in the Camaro:** Happy one year anniversary of drenching me from head to foot in gross rain water. You’re still an a**hole, but at least you’re MINE. Love you! Stained Dress Shirt._

_**Stained Dress Shirt:** You’re an idiot, I don’t know why I tolerate you. Get back to work. (Love you too, see you at home.) Jackass in the Camaro. _

**END.**

**Author's Note:**

> Teen Wolf (c) Jeff Davis  
> The Bachelor (c) Mike Fleiss  
> Punk'd (c) Ashton Kutcher and Jason Goldberg
> 
> Come chill with me on [Tumblr](https://isthatbloodonhisshirt.tumblr.com/).


End file.
